Birds and Cages
by Gosangoku
Summary: England contemplates his relationship with America as he goes to his fireworks display. Little does he know America is there and wants their bond to be stronger. — US/UK. Happy New Years!


He hated it. Being home alone. It always provoked his traitorous thoughts to reign conquest over his mind, and he despised it. His thoughts, no matter what of, always seemed to revolve around one person. Er, nation, that is. _He'd be even more smug than usual if he were aware of this_, he thought with an odd mixture of fondness and fury. Fury spurred by jealousy. He was once one of the strongest - he was an _empire_. He had practically _made_ America, and he had so many colonies. He had ruled the seas. But now? Now, he was just a lonely old man. Island. He had still retained some colonies, but they had never filled the void of abandonment and loneliness after America had left, which was why he abhorred being alone in his house. He was aware that it was his fault. He shouldn't have increased the taxes so much, and he may have treated America as nought but a child... but England had never had a younger brother. He had never really taken care of anyone, nor had anyone truly looked after him. As such, he tried his hardest to keep America safe, and had seemingly smothered him. Increasing the taxes? He supposed... he was bitter that America was growing up so fast...

When he had returned from battle to find America had grown taller than him, he was so shocked that he couldn't speak for a moment. At first, the oblivious twit hadn't even realised, and had insinuated that England had _shrunk_ instead of he, himself, having grown. Of course, when he did notice, he was bloody smug about it. England played along, trying to turn the tables by embarrassing America, having said, _"My little brother is growing up,"_ and, certainly, a dark look had spread across his face before he flushed and looked away, grumbling and grabbing England's luggage and crates of tea. When America had turned away to enter the house, England had let his guard drop for a second, emotions swirling inside of him, and his throat hurt and his eyes burned and - _He really is growing... He..._

There was always a nagging suspicion at the back of his mind that America would leave him eventually. It was blatantly - _glaringly_ obvious from the way that America had steadily grown out of obeying England's orders, doing everything he could to act out; refusing to eat England's food, to drink England's tea; didn't go to England's bed even when terrified from a horror film he had watched... and it hurt. He didn't show it; the British Empire could never show any weakness... t-to potential foes, but... as cliché as it sounded, he could feel his heart cracking every time America acted in those ways. He never showed it. He had always kept a calm, imperious face on, and had gradually stopped smiling at America. He had even began acting childish himself; trying to force things upon America, trying to take his money so he couldn't... separate... from England. None of it had worked. Eventually, America had declared independence, and had... he had won.

When England had been kneeling on the ground, cold, muddy, bloodied and defeated, when he had dropped his - _America's_ musket, he had lost. He had chosen to lose. He could have easily shot America and be done with it and remain powerful and imperious and - but... he didn't. He dropped the gun. He fell to his knees before the world's newest superpower. He had lost. He had lost his title, his reign, his rule... He had lost _America_. It hurt so much. Not just the physical wounds, but... God, his heart... He had clenched his hands into the earth beneath his legs, gloved fingers clenching hard, trying to hold on because he was so dizzy and he felt like he was falling and - He was just glad it was raining. He and America could both pretend that it was just the rain making him look like he was crying. Just the rain. Of course... because England didn't cry.

The teacup England held was shaking, and droplets of tea slipped from the rim and dripped onto his slacks. He swallowed, wincing at how painful it was to do so, and closed his eyes, willing back the onslaught of tears that threatened to fall. _Funny_, he thought sardonically, _Whenever I _have_ cried... it's been for America_. He smiled ruefully, opening his glimmering emerald eyes. _It's always America_. Taking a deep breath, he chugged back the rest of his tea and slammed the cup back down on the table beside him. Slamming his book shut, he glanced at the clock and decided it was time to depart for the fireworks show in London. _My heart_, he thought with a shake of his head. Although it was only eight, the place filled up quickly, and so he aimed to get there before nine.

His train ride was nothing special. He couldn't focus on the sights outside of the scratched windows, nor did he hear excited children screaming happily about the bright show they were about to witness. He had his green iPod clenched in his hands, listening to a nameless tune that he couldn't focus on, as he approached London Waterloo station. He smiled politely, albeit weakly, and let other people get off of the train before he himself did. They were more excited. He'd seen the fireworks every year (and Australia's, just to see if his brother was upholding the tradition. Not that he was ever jealous of his colony's displays or anything. Nor did he think they were beautiful or anything. No way.). He was usually exhillerated to view the things launch up into the dark sky and erupt in a burst of colours, exploding magnificently, and then fall back down and disappear in nicely-coloured stars and sparkles... but this year, he just felt tired and worn. _Perhaps it is just the economy making me down_, he told himself, trying to convince himself to perk up. _Come on, England. Stiff upper lip and all that. You invented it, you bloody moron. Stick to it..._ Sighing, he approached his intended destination and slipped into the park, tuning out the delirious laughter and loud chatting... but he couldn't block out what he saw - _families_, sitting together; _lovers_, holding each other; parents and children playing and laughing...

He took a shaky breath and steeled himself, blinking away the burning in his eyes once more. _Stop being so bloody pathetic_, he thought cruelly, clenching his fists and furrowing his brows together tightly. _I just want to get this over with... _He checked his watch and groaned in despair. It was only a quarter to nine. _Bloody hell_, he thought wearily, leaning against a tree, not really caring if his suit became dirty, _Tonight will be a long night..._

**O-o-O-o-O**

Wringing his hands nervously, America glanced around, trying to catch a glimpse of England for the umpteenth time that evening, and was once again disheartened when he couldn't see the man. He huffed in annoyance to mask his disappointment. "Come on," he muttered to himself, "He comes here _every year_. This is _London_ for fuck sake..." Despite his reassurrances, he continued searching the crowd for the Brit as various scenarios flashed through his mind that could have prevented England from coming to his own celebration. He dismissed his concern for a while, fidgiting and darting his eyes around to look, before the worry grew and he clumsily flipped out his phone to make sure England was okay. He hit speed dial (number one) to call the Brit, but then instantly hung up, wondering, _Will that seem to desparate?_ Groaning and running a hand through his hair, not disrupting Nantucket in the least, he instead texted his former guardian.

_R u ok?_ He first wrote, but then deleted it and rewrote it as, _Are you OK?_ because England would probably be pissed off if he used text speak. He sent it quickly and bit his lip when he did not instantly receive a response. He danced from leg to leg to distract himself and continued scouring the crowd. _Wh-what if Russia kdinapped him? Or France tried to molest him? Or--!_

Lady GaGa notified him that he had received a text. Fumbling awkwardly and almost dropping his phone, he opened it, deflating in relief when he read, _Yes, I'm alright. Why the bloody hell wouldn't I be, git?_

He quickly wrote back, _I dunno. Anyways, where are you? D:_

_London._

America twitched. That wasn't helpful. _Yeah, but WHERE in London?!!! :_ He always felt compelled to use those faces even though no emotes showed up on texts...

_No need for the extra exclamation marks, America. I'm at the fireworks display... You know where that is, don't you?_

_Duh_, he wanted to say, but instead wrote, _Where abouuut? :(_

There was a long pause and America was worried England wouldn't reply. If so, he'd never find the guy amidst all of these people--!

_Near the entrance... Most people are up front... I want to actually be able to get out when it's over. Why do you wish to know? It's not as if you'll be able to see me on your television._

America checked his watch. Quarter to twelve. _Fuck_, he thought nervously, pocketing his phone and beginning to jog (running was impossible with the amount of people crowding the place. Jeez, England had a _smaller _population! Probably since he was so small and everything, it seemed he had more people...) past the crowds, wondering, _Will I make it in time?_

He dodged and ducked out of the way of people, not yet out of breath, norrowly avoiding collisions that could potentially be dangerous (for other people), _and he couldn't help but feel like Superman or something because he just seemed to fly through the place_, soon feeling his lungs burn and his breathing became more erratic and - Ten to twelve, his watch read tauntingly. He looked back up, swearing loudly when he crashed into someone. He stood quickly and shouted an apology over his shoulder, ignoring the insults the man through and, _wow, English people sure can swear_, he could practically feel the seconds ticking away as he forced himself to _run, run, runrunrunrunrun! _Because it's past five-to, and he was nearing the back of the place, but _where the fuck was England?_ Panting and sweating slightly, he continued jogging around, glancing everywhere until -

"America?"

He whirled around, staring at an astonished and incredulous England, and gasped when he heard the people counting down in the background. Not verbally responding to England, he marched up to the man, who looked adorable confused and slightly nervous and, for some reason, when America looked into the Brit's eyes, he just looked so damn _vulnerable_. He grabbed England's scarred, calloused hands, tightening his grip when England tried to pull away, and gently but forcefully yanked him towards him so that their bodies were flush together. England's face was bright red and his emerald eyes, usually overcast and serious, were now wide and bewildered and worried and -

"Three!"

Both jumped at the loud shout as the countdown drew closer to zero. Not wanting England's attention anywhere else, America grabbed the Brit's face as the crowd shouted, "Two!" and he leant down and hovered his lips over England's... "One!"

And he kissed him, one hand holding his chin up, on hand around his waist to steady him, as the crowd screamed and cheered (_like it was for them_) and beautiful fireworks flared up into the black sky, illuminating it with wonderful, amazing colours, of blues and greens and reds, white, blues...

And America felt two slender arms nervously, hesitantly wrapping around him, and he could feel England trembling his his hold, lips quivering in the kiss, and he felt a bit guilty for surprising England, and more so for making the man feel that reluctant and antsy.

When the need for air became apparent between their sweet but terribly prolonged kiss, they pulled apart ever-so-slightly to breathe again, and they slowly opened their eyes. Both flushed simultaneously, but America was glad England always out-blushed him. He stared down at the older nation and pressed a soft kiss against his forehead, his eyebrows, his nose, cheeks, and the sides of his mouth before giving another chaste kiss on his lips again. Smiling, abashed, he beamed at England, who was still flushing tremendously and staring up at him in surprise.

"A-America, wh-what...?" he began, swallowing and looking away, but America, once again, gently grabbed his chin and forced their eyes to meet. He frowned when England blinked rapidly, noticing how the man's eyes were slightly bloodshot and so _tired_ but so _bright_ that they reflected the fireworks exploding beautifully in the sky...

"England..." he breathed, dropping his hand from the man's chin to wrap around his waist and hug him - _embrace_ him tightly, as if just _clinging_, and he _never _wanted to let go... "England... England... England..."

"That's my name," the shorter man said softly, also tightening his grip he had on America's shoulders. "Don't wear it out."

"England, I..." He could feel _himself_ shaking now as well, but blamed it on the brisk English weather. Breathing in slowly, he whispered into the Brit's ear, "I love you so much, England. I..."

England stiffened and his breath hitched as he felt his eyes burn and sting again, and he clutched America as he buried his face in his shoulder, feeling the hot tears fall from his eyes, and it was all he could do to repress the sobs that wracked his frame, but he knew it was probably blatantly obvious that he was crying since America was holding him and rubbing his back and whispering comforts in his ear. After a while, when the crying had ebbed into muffled sniffles, he just buried his face deeper in America's shoulder, not wishing to face the younger nation after his... performance. America must have noticed, however, since England could feel him shuddering with repressed laughter.

"What's funny?" he mumbled sulkily, sniffing.

America smiled and jostled England slightly. "Hey, look up."

"Don't want to."

"Seriously, c'mon, Iggy. Just look up... Please?"

England tensed again when he added, "Please," not used to America using manners. Not since... since... well, before... Grunting in annoyance, blushing when it sounded more like a whimper or a whine, he turned his head slightly, blinking to get used to the light of the fireworks, but he saw the red, white and blue ones exploding together in unison, all in line, and watched his fireworks in a mingled sense of awe and nostalgia. He recalled when he had brought America here when he was a child, and he had followed the boy around as he ran wildly and happily, pointing out the different colours and asking for ice-cream and toys and other things he was encountered and was entranced by. At the end of the evenings, he always carried America home, whom was worn out but still so euphoric...

"Our roles have switched, huh?" the American whispered softly as if reading the smaller nation's thoughts.

England glanced at him wearily, but surprised. "I beg your pardon?" he murmured, not understanding, but when America's large, warm bomber jacket was draped over his shoulders and their embrace was broken only for America to grasp his hand tightly, he flushed and looked at the ground, wordlessly pulling the jacket tighter around himself and missing the younger nation's smile, he felt he understood, if only slightly...

Swallowing, he squeezed America's hand, and held his breath until the other man squeezed back. Then? Then, he smiled.

_Let a bird go, and it will never return to its cage..._ He looked up at America, who smiled down at him. Slowly, he smiled back. Small and tired, but it was there. And he leaned closer to him as they watched the remaining fireworks soar into the sky, explode, and sizzle downwards to cover the crowd. _But it will always remember, and maybe... maybe it might come to visit. Maybe it will grow and return to help the owner, like the owner had once helped it. Maybe... they don't have to be torn apart._

_Maybe_, he thought, unable to stop smiling, _Maybe he forgave me_.

America blinked at the smaller man and chuckled slightly at the dopey grin he wore. He leant down and kissed him sweetly, and England responded, albeit shyly.

_Or maybe... maybe he loves me._

**O-o-O-o-O**

As soon as he returned home, England collapsed onto his bed, officially worn out and exhausted. He wanted to _sleep_ but, at the same time, he just wanted... he wanted...

America crawled over him, and their eyes met for a long moment before both leant into a kiss, lips mingling together perfectly, brushing slightly for a few moments before they worked up enough courage to let their tongues portrude the other's mouth, skimming the lips, the teeth, the tongue, memorising the texture, the taste... and soon, England felt his blouse being unbuttoned carefully, having had abandoned his blazer downstairs, and America slipped it off of him slowly, and he bit his lip to prevent himself from giggling because, blimey, that _tickled_. America obviously noticed, since he was laughing softly, and he leant down to plant kisses up England's pale, scarred arms, his neck, his collarbone and - _oh, God, there!_ - trailed gently butterfly kisses down his torso that left him feeling tingly, and suddenly their lips locked back together again, and they were laughing into the kiss, the vibrations tickling their lips, and England didn't even realise his trousers being pulled off, nor his underwear, so he gasped (not squeaked!) in shock and pleasure when he felt America's fingers, cool from the outside chill, wrap around his cock, still so gentle and soft, rubbing up and down, making England arch and moan into the kiss as he felt heat pool _down there_.

"A-America... I-I want... I want..." he whispered hotly into the kiss, cupping America's cheeks and rubbing them with his thumbs as he kissed America so delicately (_Like an angel_, thought the younger nation).

"En-England..." he breathed kissing the Brit's neck, biting down lightly and sucking it to make up for any pain whilst still gently fondling the man's member, making him squirm and writhe beneath him. "I don't want to hurt you," he whispered honestly, worried azure eyes staring imploringly into the smaller man's.

"I don't... care," he panted in response, gasping and squirming and _why did it feel so bloody good?_ "I..." He let go of America's face to wrap his arms around his shoulders, cold fingertips caressing his back. "I want you... Alfred..."

America's eyes widened in astonishment and he stared in awe at the beautiful man beneath him, who stared right back, green eyes open and vulnerable but still so unyielding and strong. The eyes he had always thought were amazing, the eyes belonging to the man he admired. The man he loved.

Smiling sweetly and nodding, he moved to go and locate some lubrication, but his wrist was caught, and he turned back to England, who looked up at him helplessly and said, "_No_, Alfred," and he leant up, kissing him again. "I just want _you_. _You_, right now, just as you are." He flushed pleasantly, pulling America back down on top of him. He knew the younger nation was stronger than him, and smiled at the fact that he had let him perform that action instead of going against him.

"Okay," America whispered huskily, swallowing, because England was just _so damn beautiful_ like that, and he just couldn't argue. "Hold onto me, love," he said kindly, and England obediently wrapped his arms around his broad shoulders, eyes wide and nervous but ready and full of love. He lined himself up and, very slowly, pushed himself inside of the tight heat, gasping and groaning as England sucked in a quick breath and began panting and thrashing. "Shh, England. Arthur," he murmured, grasping one of the man's arms and putting it back on the bed, entwining their fingers and leaning down to softly bite and suck the man's neck before kissing his swollen lips. "Arthur, calm down... It'll stop hurting, I promise. Just look at me. Art? Art, look at me. Only at me."

Slowly, the green eyes fluttered open and his cheeks heated up even more at the intense gaze that awaited him. "A-Al - Ah!" he cried in pleasure when his hard length was grasped and stroked. "Ah... Hnn... I-I'm r-ready now," he gasped, eyes shimmering, and America smiled at him, thrusting in, groaning, as England cried out, rocking his hips and arching his back because _oh, God, that feels so good!_

"Are... you okay?" he asked, unable to stop looking into those eyes--

"I-it hurts a little," England replied, but he was smiling so sweetly and he just looked so... so... "But I'll be okay... Nn! Ahh!" he moaned and gasped as America stroked his member again, more roughly but still somehow gentle, and tightened his grasp on their intertwined hands, kissing his stomach, chest, pausing to bite a nipple, pleased when England squeaked and arched again (he stored that away for later reference), bit his collarbone and neck (rather proud when realising that England would be sporting several love bites in the morning), and then meeting his lips once more, tongues meeting but not battling for dominance, just mingling and licking and tasting and-- _Oh, god--!_

"A-Arthur, I'm... I think I'm going to..." he groaned into the kiss, feeling both his hand and Arthur's shaking.

"M-me too," the Brit gasped, eyes fluttering as his remaining arm clinging around America's shoulders slipped to the bed as America thrust deeper into him, and he practically _screamed _because _yes, yes, that's the spot!_ He was so close, so close, and with America pushing against him, inside of him, united, kissing, together... "I love you," he choked into the kiss, dismissing his pride and the broken heart and just being honest after all that time, tears falling once again. _My tears are always for you, America... Alfred._

"Arthur..." America whispered soothingly, licking away the salty tears, kissing his cheek and his eyebrows and lips. "I love you too... more than anyone. More than myself. I love you."

They were still kissing and holding hands as they climaxed, calling each other's names into the kiss.

**O-o-O-o-O**

**Omake.**

**O-o-O-o-O**

"It's a bloody good thing I don't have a meeting today," England grumbled sulkily, and America wished he could see the man's adorable little pout and flushed cheeks, but, as it was... "It huuurts..."

England had awoken to find himself wrapped in America's arms with love bites all over him and a pain shooting up his spine. After screaming and kicking the bigger man out of the bed, he had stolen all of the blankets and huddled in the corner of the bed, whinging and complaining and whimpering.

"You're the one who protested the lube," America replied with a sly grin, "You just couldn't wait for me to--"

"Don't say it!" England screamed, and then groaned again. "Oww..."

Feeling pity for the poor old man, America crawled back onto the bed and pried the sheets away from England's curled up form. He grinned when he saw the bright green eyes, the thick furrowed eyebrows, crimson cheeks, swollen lips and bruises on the porcelain skin. Leaning down, he kissed one of the love bite's on his neck and then his lips once again. "So, I assume you aren't up for another round then?" he asked cheekily, surprised when he received a smirk and was suddenly flipped onto his beck. He stared, mouth agape, at England, who grinned down at him. "You can't top me!" he squealed angrily.

England pouted sullenly (_Seductively_, America's mind supplied) before he flushed again, obviously still shy about it, but he worked up the courage to lean down and whisper, "How about I ride you then?"

At that point, America knew he could die happy.

Even when, later, England had cooked him dinner. It was disgusting but, when he caught sight of the plasters on England's hands, he didn't have to force his smile, even though he lied when he said that they were great. But he wasn't lying when he kissed England and said, "I love you."

**O-o-O-o-O**

_**Axis Powers Hetalia **_**belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.**

**Oh. My goodness. That took so bloody long. Why did I do it? I've no flaming idea, but I want to hit myself. My haaand. Naaah, I'm exaggarating... I've wrote longer. :s**

**Okay, so there was no pirate cosplay... I wanted to write fluff or something sweet. :c I wanted to write angst, but... I'll write that later. XD; It's currently 11:30ish in England, so it isn't too late to post this. I hope you enjoyed it. Good luck in the new year, and do your best. ^^**

**And yes, I **_**am**_** obsessed with England wearing America's jacket. Yes, I am. -**_**sticks out tongue**_**- ...It's cute, okay?! -**_**blushes**_**-**

**Anyway... -**_**rubs neck**_**- I hope you enjoyed it, I guess... Happy New Year... ¬///¬;**


End file.
